


"Interrogate me, Officer"

by creative_frequency



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 23:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18061916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creative_frequency/pseuds/creative_frequency
Summary: Connor has a way of melting your resolve to stay mad at him.Prompt: "Interrogate me, Officer."





	"Interrogate me, Officer"

You pause at the doorway before stepping inside. The lights are out, but a blue swirl in the darkness is all you need to see for a sigh to be drawn out of you.

“Oh, you’re up,” you mutter. The keys clink as you toss them into a bowl on the side table. The lights turn on automatically when you take a step.

“I don’t sleep.”

You snort, not really amused. “I know.”

You walk past the android, ignoring his judgmental stare, and fully intent on dragging yourself straight to bed. It’s five in the morning. The day has been the longest one you can recall, filled with unforeseen adversities and just frankly saying, full of shit.

Connor follows you into the bedroom and leans on the doorway as you start changing into something more comfortable for sleeping – anything but the sweaty and dirty clothes you’ve been wearing all day and night.

“I’d like to know where you were,” Connor says calmly, but with a glance you notice how his hands are clasping his folded arms. The sleeves of his grey shirt are rolled to forearms and he is wearing casual sweatpants instead of the usual jeans he works in. He must’ve been at home for a good while. The LED on his right temple is swirling in calm blue, for now.

You keep him waiting for a reply until you have your night shirt on.

“Not right now, Connor.”

The LED begins a round in yellow. “Why?”

You blow out a frustrated sigh. You’ve spent the better part of the day building a wall just for this scene. “…I’m tired.”

It’s the universal android code term for “human must do human things first, let’s speak later”.

Connor strides towards you, ignoring your words as you flop to sit down on the bed.

Finally feeling the soft mattress makes you hum contentedly. Your sore legs and aching back scream for the lulling embrace. You’re about to dive beneath the covers, but Connor doesn’t allow you the chance to turn your back on him; he grabs your hand and his burning stare ignites the last few sparks of energy in you ablaze.

“I was worried,” he says.

The distressed tone makes you pause only for a second before you decisively brush it off.

How many times have you felt what he is feeling now? Waiting and praying for him to come home, safe and sound. It’s not like you were in any danger. The same cannot be said for _his_ nightly excursions.

The towers of your sand castle of determination already start to crumble.

“Where were you?” Connor asks again, brows furrowing.

You tilt your head and fully face the brown eyes. They’re filled with purpose – a familiar, but nonetheless alerting sight from work-context. You might have clicked the wrong button in him by refusing to cooperate.

In the fraction of a second, you decide between kicking the castle down and building another wall.

“Deduce – isn’t that what you always do?” Your tone is calm, but snappy enough for irritation to shine through.

Frustration rings clear in the small groan that rises from Connor’s throat. “Now you’re being childish. I’m only asking because I was concerned.”

_Time._ You need time to raise the walls back up.

“Oh yeah?” you say, yanking your hand free. “Well I feel like staying childish and not talking to you right now.”

It serves him right. He never speaks to you about his work and whereabouts either.

“What would you have me do then?” Connor’s darkened gaze is fixated into your eyes as he asks this.

“Interrogate me, Officer,” you quip, intending for the words to be a stupid joke.

Too bad the android sent by CyberLife doesn’t consider it as one.

A short scream escapes you when Connor grabs both of your wrists and pushes you onto the bed, knee between your thighs and hollow breaths tickling the shell of your ear. His scent fills your nostrils, almost prickling in the sudden volume of it.

“Then be prepared to _sing_ for me,” he whispers in a tone that sends shivers down your spine. He is done playing with your sand castle. Every exhale is a new crushing wave against the walls.

Your body reacts before your consciousness can catch up; your head turns, greedily seeking out the perfect lips.

Connor pulls back after barely allowing your lips to touch. His eyebrow is arched and the deep dark emotion in his eyes has your heart race. His LED is settling into yellow from a round of red.

Then he smirks and your breathing stutters.

Not letting go of your wrists, Connor starts a torturously slow trail down your jaw and neck. His tongue peeks out to taste your skin and in perfectly controlled carelessness his teeth graze you. He is gentle, but determined, never leaving any marks of evidence behind.

“Are you ready to confess?” he asks in the midst of light kisses on your collarbone, as far down as the neckline of your night shirt allows.

You chuckle breathily and swallow to ease the draught in your throat. His knee pushes deliberately against your sex and you try not to move your legs.

“Don’t think you’ll break me _that_ easily,” you retort, though the words are shaky enough to reveal your true feelings. You never were any good in keeping secrets from your android boyfriend. Especially since he is usually relatively mild mannered, even in bed. This kind of behavior is rare and as hard it is to admit: Irresistible.

Your pulse is climbing up and as well as you can feel it, Connor can sense it.

“Mmhm,” he murmurs as the caresses of his lips and nose move up, heading towards your ear. Your head turns in sync with his advances.

You gasp for breath when Connor nibbles at your earlobe and his tongue traces your auricle. His thumbs are massaging circles into the sides of your hands, no longer actually pinning you down. You’re just lying there, breathless and helpless to resist.

Connor pushes his knee forward and your hips involuntarily grind against it, sending a dazing wave of pleasure through your spine. You can feel Connor’s smile on your cheekbone. He can sense the slight raise in your temperature and the exertion your body is making in its aroused state.

“Still not talking?” he asks in a sweet, seductive tone that should be able to just obliterate the clothes on you, as little as you’re wearing.

Your reply is an ambiguous gurgle, when you try to clear your throat from the stimulation coursing through your body. You’re not even trying to stop the small motions of your hips chasing for the rush of pleasure, and Connor doesn’t seem to mind as he goes back to laying small kisses on your jawline. His fingers start trailing down your arms.

As soon the weight on your hands disappears, you leap at the chance push your body up with one arm and pull Connor’s shirt off with the other. He helps you amicably, and then tosses the piece of clothing to the floor. Heartbeats hammering in your ears, you catch a glimpse of the strands of hair on his forehead when his mouth crashes against your lips, and forces you back down into the mattress.

The passionate drive in the kiss makes you woozy in a matter of seconds. It’s hard to execute even autonomous functions like breathing when Connor moves to straddle your waist, leans to cup your cheek and his other hand finds its way under your shirt. Any traces of exhaustion you might’ve had are gone.

You feel out his bare chest, touch quickly streaming down to his hips and the waistline of his pants. The hardened bulge of his silicone extension presses against your stomach, sending a set of pleasant tingles up your spine. He wants you as much as you want him, and there is something about knowing how androids aren’t supposed want anything, and yet, Connor reacts to your touch like such.

He pulls back when you stroke his length through the fabric, hesitation passing through his features even though lust still burns in his brown eyes.

“I know we have problems, but–” he begins, but you shush him with a finger pressed to his lips.

“No, don’t,” you coo, “Don’t try to say you’ve done something wrong ‘cause you haven’t.”

With a finger under his chin, you pull him into a sweet kiss that quickly turns into a fervent one. Connor tugs your night shirt until you straighten your arms so that he can pull it off. He caresses your neck, shoulders and breasts while your lips massage together, teeth peeking to tease the other one’s lower lip given the chance. Your back pushes to the bed under his weight.

Connor’s familiar and exhilarating scent fills your nostrils with every shallow inhale – you’re still fairly certain he starts emitting pheromones in such situations. Your pulse quickens, your awareness of his touch on your skin heightens immensely and the pulsating sensation of want deepens between your legs.

You’re more than ready for him and the ruined state of your panties proves that.

Connor knows exactly what is happening in your body with each passing second. He moves back, lips never leaving yours. He settles to sit between your spread legs and lifts them over his thighs. His touch trails over your sides, slightly tickling in its gentleness, and pauses at the waistband of your last remaining article of clothing. Shivers course through you when he circles back to your hip bone, tracing its mound with a thumb almost experimentally, and you sigh into his mouth.

“If I give you what you want…” Connor begins in a careful but somehow sly tone, speaking against your lips. Brown eyes are inspecting the look on your face, but your eyes are closed. His fingers curl underneath the waistband, ready to yank the panties down.

“Yes?” You writhe in place, hanging onto his every word and action. Anticipation is making you quiver.

“Will you confess?”

Your eyes flutter open. Torturously slowly, Connor pulls your lingerie down and eventually leaves it to hang on one ankle. The room temperature is perfectly normal, but the air still feels cool against your aroused sex.

Connor leans back to get a better look at the indecisive confusion you’re wearing. He enjoys thoroughly seeing your obstinacy battling your primal needs.

“Uhm, not fair,” you murmur weakly, already defeated in your little game. You can clearly see the excitement inside his pants too, but he’s got the upper hand now, so he can call the shots.

Connor relaxes back, gaze never leaving your face as his hand casually wanders to stroke you.

You _jolt_ uncontrollably, your hips lifting off from the bed.

He _smirks_.

Stupid, seductive android.

You bite your lip, aware of the hotness of your cheeks and the small sounds that rise from your throat as he repeats the motion. Your legs spread as much as you’re physically able to and Connor sidles closer.

Your fingers dig into the sheets on your sides when he finally pushes one finger inside you and begins to pump it swiftly, all the while looking he is doing nothing special like watering his fish or feeding his plant. You hum and sigh with the rhythm, eyes closed, head leaning back and hips swaying.

Connor monitors your every reaction, adjusting his pace and angle accordingly. His other hand soon comes to grip your hips to keep you still and not allow you to grind yourself against his hand. You want to pout, to voice out your disagreement, but the steady motions and the slick sounds of your needs being sated are the only things your mind can process at the moment.

Connor always was good with his hands, often luring an orgasm or two out of you before the main course. He would say it’s to relax you, so you’re be able to enjoy his extension more since he can’t have so much control over it. But you don’t need control. You just need for him to fill you to the brim, to make you sing his name until your voice is gone.

Connor watches with a calm expression as his fingers undo you, but underneath the surface a fire is smoldering. He feels the terrible need too. The need to have you close, to feel you, to be inside you. There is no one else who makes him feel like that. It drives him mad because he cannot understand it. Usually he tries to avoid thinking about it, but then you’re in front of him like this, open and ready, and the thoughts resurface.

Your breathing grows more labored as the moment of breaking draws closer with each push and stroke. You try to say Connor’s name, to say _faster, yes, more_ , or _I love you_ , but you don’t have the mental capacity to focus on breathing and talking in your current state. The sheets are completely crumpled on the sides. Your legs are shaking and when Connor’s hold on your hip loosens, your hips begin to jerk in rhythm with his massaging, adding pressure to the right spot to have you melt.

For the smallest trice, you stop breathing and your body tenses. Time stops and speeds all too soon. The finally reached wave of euphoria relaxes you again. You push yourself against Connor’s hand, riding out the sensation of pleasure, mouth slightly open, drawing in intermittent, sharp breaths.

Connor leans over you, softly touching your waist and plants his lips partially on yours. There is nothing but the pulsation in your body, the heat, the touch and weight on you and Connor’s scent. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss that says you need more.

Your breathing needs to even out before you can talk but your free hand is already working its way into your lover’s pants. All games are cast aside in the haze of want. You can no longer even remember why you were mad at Connor when you got home.

Definite urgency brands the manner of how you together scramble his clothing off, hands on each other, lips glued together. Connor has difficulties giving you room to breathe, and you murmur into each other’s mouths partial words of affection and promises.

“I love… you so, so much–”

“I want you–”

“There is… nothing–”

“I can’t– b-be without–”

In moments like these, you can’t tell the difference between him and a human. The natural instincts he supposedly shouldn’t possess are leading his actions and you’re all in for the ride.

The lustful haste is stalled only when you finally feel the warm silicone extension at your entrance. Connor’s nose presses against your neck and you pull his hips flush to yours.

The immense satisfaction has you sigh out loud and quickly turns the vocal pleasure into clear as day moaning. Luckily the apartment walls are thick but that is of no consequence in that moment.

Connor is steadfast but gentle in his motions and each thrust pushes your back so deep into the mattress that you gasp again and again. He has no mercy and knows exactly where your limit lies. Quickly, you’re ready to dive over the edge again but he keeps you hanging there, fingers scraping for purchase on his back and hips.

When you mewl for more, Connor slows down and kisses you with affection so deep it alone makes your head spin and forget he is deep inside you.

“Don’t stop,” you croon, trying to pull his hips down but you might as well try to move the apartment wall.

“There is something you need to tell me…” Connor says in the sweetest, gentlest voice he can utter.

“Aah, anything…”

He kisses you again, never completely pausing the motions or losing pace. Each outward pull massages you in a way that is driving you crazy. His tongue slips into your mouth, lightly playing and feeling out how you’re absolutely ready to devour your perfect android boyfriend.

“Where were you?” he asks softly and makes a couple of more languid, slower pushes into you, dragging out the feeling of his shaft against your inner walls.

“F-fucking hell, Connor,” you manage to curse. You’re pinned down by the sweetest torture and you know it won’t reach its peak unless you talk.

Connor’s interrogation techniques are top-notch, as always, and even you have to cave.

His lips trail the side of your neck and exposed shoulder. Your sense of smell should’ve gone numb already, but the scent still floats into your nose as a pleasant reminder of how wonderful and loving boyfriend you have. Cunning, calculating, amazing with his hands…

“I had to follow a client to get proof she’s cheating on her husband,” you blurt out in one tangled sentence.

Connor’s unhurried pace almost fractures. His lips freeze over your shoulder before he slowly looks up to meet your gaze.

“Promise me that’s your last case,” he whispers, the tone somewhere between pleading and commanding.

“I-I can’t do that,” you manage to say between gasps.

Connor’s motions become direr, his thrusts more demanding and you don’t think it’s a good time to try and have a conversation about anything, least of all this again.

“I’ll look after you.”

You know what he means since you’ve already talked through that a million times. You still haven’t given him a proper answer and you don’t want to give any thought to it now when he is inside you, his lips tasting the skin of your neck, hand gripping your hip.

You wrap your legs around Connor’s waist to pull him deeper and tangle your hands into his hair to guide him for a kiss.

“Then at least promise me you’ll think about it,” he murmurs, holding back before your lips touch.

“Mmh,” you hum an agreement into his mouth.

Satisfied with your answer, Connor continues the deliciously deathly pace. His silicone extension is stretching you with each motion, sinking so deep it almost hurts. You both know you can’t hold out much longer. Your legs feel like jelly around him and the rest of your body is numb as all of the capacity to feel something is concentrated between your legs.

You try to bring air into your lungs steadily, but the breaths are rapidly turning into gasps. The pulsating of your core is getting worse with each motion and Connor quickens his pace to make you come. He is finally letting himself loose. As much as he always holds back when he is inside you, when he feels you convulsing so violently, inviting him to let go of the strains and think nothing… His programming doesn’t have protocols for that _feeling_.

The moment when Connor is about to burst from the stimulation and sheer bliss, is when he feels the most alive. In a way, he goes on the blink and loses himself in your softness and warmth.

“I love you,” he murmurs under his breath as you clench around his shaft, legs almost spasming in their grip to keep him deep inside you.

You don’t want to move until you’ve completely had your fill of the euphoria. Connor is breathing heavily, hair disheveled and blue blush dusting his cheeks.

“I love you, too,” you huff as you finally gain enough sense to process the words he spoke into your ear. He is so warm on top of you, his weight safe and steady. His frame is slightly shaking but you know it’s nothing to be concerned about – only side-effects to the strong emotions.

It takes longer for Connor to gather his bearings than for you to come down from the high. You stroke his hair and back, your legs involuntarily trembling on the bed. The familiar post-coital feeling is tingling your senses; there are no words to describe it, but somehow it feels like you just made an android into a deviant.

Again and again. Every time you manifest your love towards Connor. It’s a wonderful and a terrifying feeling. Some call it fornication, a sin to bed an android, but in a heartbeat, you would swear the man in your arms is, indeed, alive.


End file.
